Brady Hawk 10 - Into the Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  Hawk dismissed his concerns as paranoia, choosing to dwell on other topics during his long walk home. Topics such as Blunt’s whereabouts, Alex’s safety, and the Texas Longhorns’ position in the latest Associated Press poll were all welcomed in his mind. As long as Hawk didn’t have to consider the possibility that their plan would ultimately fail, he was fine.

  Upon arriving at his apartment, Hawk fixed a quick dinner and devoured it in less time than it took to make it. He finished his evening by contemplating his email exchange with Alex on the roof.

  Leaning forward on the railing, he watched the lights of Muscat twinkle in the distance. The glow of a city still hard at work illuminated the horizon, reducing the chances of seeing any stars. Though returning to civilization relieved Hawk, he missed the overhead masterpiece provided in the sky soaring over the Al Hajar Mountains. Devoid of light pollution, the canvas that stretched from horizon to horizon had been a pleasure to observe each evening after the thankless task of navigating grumpy customers across challenging terrain. Hawk didn’t miss the work, but he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed unwinding beneath the glorious beaming stars each night.

  A smile swept across his face as he remembered the pristine beauty while appreciating Muscat’s own unique display. But that smile ended abruptly when he felt the blade of a knife jammed dangerously into his back.

  “If you want to live, you won’t make another move,” the man said.

  CHAPTER 11

  Brighton, England

  ALEX GLANCED AT THE CALLER ID on the phone. The word “unknown” lit up the screen, making her anxious about answering it. She quickly considered the consequences of avoiding the call before deciding to pick up.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Alex, this Mallory Kauffman,” the woman on the other end said.

  Alex let out a sigh of relief once she recognized the voice of her longtime confidant from NSA.

  “I take it you got my message,” she said.

  “You are good at covering your tracks,” Mallory said. “If you ever want to come back—”

  “I’m fine where I’m at, thank you. Now, cut the recruiting act and tell me what you found.”

  Mallory chuckled. “Cool your jets, Alex. I’ve got good news.”

  “The suspense is killing me.”

  “The recording you sent me was—how should I say it—eye opening.”

  “I didn’t send it to you for commentary on its contents,” Alex said. “I simply wanted to know if it could be verified.”

  “In that case, you don’t have to worry about a thing. I gave it to one of our digital forensic experts and he verified President Michaels’ voice on the recording.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that a ‘but’ is coming?”

  “Because it is.”

  “Go ahead. Give me the bad news.”

  “My expert told me that the voice of the other gentleman on the recording was digitized.”

  “Meaning . . .”

  “Meaning an expert would be able to prove that whoever Michaels was talking to wasn’t really the guy he thought he was talking to.”

  “But would that really matter?”

  “Probably not in the court of public opinion, but you know how Michaels and his team are so skilled at spinning a negative into a positive. I would just move forward with caution. There’s the possibility that this could come back on the paper and the editor would end up with egg on his face.”

  “So, essentially you’re saying this isn’t admissible in court?”

  “You’re not planning on presenting this in some sort of civil lawsuit, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “In that case, this should be fine for throwing a huge wrench in his re-election campaign if it’s released soon. But just beware that this isn’t a done deal. It still could blow up on you.”

  “The goal is to expose his deceitful practices—the kind that are endangering the country’s safety and destabilizing the Middle East—to the American people so they can decide if they want this man as their leader,” Alex said. “That’s the goal anyway.”

  “Well, it’s a noble one. Let me know if you need help with anything else.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  Alex hung up and opened up her laptop, checking her regular email account from the comfort of her couch. With her feet propped up, she scrolled through the morass of junk mail and social media notifications. She refreshed the inbox and a message from Brian Lawton flashed onto the screen.

  Alex’s eyes danced over the words as a smile began to spread across her face.

  They’re running the story tomorrow morning.

  She pumped her fist and closed her laptop before getting ready for bed. She wanted to let Hawk know all about it so he could follow the fallout as it happened in real time. However, the library was closed. She would still have time to let him know in the morning on her way to work, notifying him before news of the scandal went public.

  * * *

  ALEX DUCKED INTO THE LIBRARY and posted a note for Hawk in their shared draft folder. She continued to work, splashing through the standing water on the sidewalk. Overnight, a rain cloud settled over Brighton and hadn’t budged for nearly six hours. In an attempt to avoid getting drenched, she popped up her umbrella and fought to keep it up in a battle with the wind.

  At lunchtime, she checked news websites to see if the story on Michaels had broken. Though she was six hours ahead of Chicago, she figured a story that big would’ve already trickled out. She imagined that news about the president arming terrorists would not only rock the U.S. but also the international community. But she was disappointed to find that it was still business as usual for all the major news outlets.

  Maybe they decided to move the story to another day.

  Later that afternoon, Alex took a break to check again. Still nothing. Concerned and distracted, she returned to work. For the next hour, she resisted getting online for fear of more disappointment, though she was certain that the story had been delayed for some reason or another. Mallory’s warning echoed in her mind, a thought she tried to push away. If Michaels’ team got wind of the story The Chicago Tribune was planning on running, the president’s administration would’ve attempted to squash it.

  Is this really happening?

  Alex tried to focus as she convinced herself that Lawton likely ran into some issues verifying his source or some other hangup that prevented the article from running when he said it would. Doing her best to ignore the tornado swirling through her mind, she gave her task her sole attention. But that was short lived when a phone call shattered her concentration.

  “This is Alex,” she said.

  “When was that story supposed to run?” Blunt asked in response.

  “This morning. Why?”

  “Well, you can forget about it now—the reporter is dead.”

  “What?” Alex asked, her eyes welling up with tears. “How do you know? When did this happen?”

  “I hate delivering news like this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know that Brian Lawton was a good friend of yours. I forgot you were more than acquaintances.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she said, choking back more tears in an effort to remain composed in the office.

  “They’re claiming suicide. According to reports, he was drinking at his favorite bar after work last night and went home and jumped off the balcony of his high-rise apartment. The editor must’ve pulled the story when he heard about Lawton’s death—and I doubt the article will run at all now.”

  “This was all my fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Blunt said. “Some of Michaels’ goons are the ones who did this. Your friend was simply doing his job. I’m sure you warned him about the danger, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But that was his choice. Everyone covering this administration knows what Michaels is capable of. His death was for a noble cause.”

  “And now I’m afra
id it will be for nothing.”

  “Alex, that’s not like you to give up so easily,” Blunt said. “The Alex I know is tenacious and determined. You wouldn’t take something like this sitting down.”

  “It’s just too many people are dying because of decisions I’ve made—people who I consider my friends.”

  “This should make you more focused on figuring out a way to take Michaels down. None of us are going to get our lives back until that bastard is out of office—and preferably dead.”

  “I just don’t know if I can go on like this,” she said. “So much senseless loss.”

  “There’s gonna be a helluva lot more of it if we don’t do something. Today you cry for your friend; tomorrow you might weep for thousands who die senselessly at the hands of some terrorists armed and emboldened by Michaels. We can’t let our individual pain stop us from seeing this same kind of pain spread exponentially across this country. If we don’t do something, who will?”

  Alex sniffled and dried the outer corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I can grieve later.”

  “And you will, but right now we need another plan of attack to get Michaels on his heels.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Given how Michaels has crushed stories by murdering journalists in the past, I only see one real option—Wikileaks.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” Alex said. “That’s only going to be more difficult in convincing the American people that what the audio captured Michaels doing really happened.”

  “Don’t underestimate the American people. They can be a fiercely loyal group, but when they feel betrayed, watch out. Hopefully, Michaels will bear the brunt of their wrath.”

  “We can only hope,” Alex said. “I’ll contact Wikileaks as soon as I get off work.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Muscat, Oman

  HAWK REMAINED FROZEN, unsure if the blade that had already pierced his shirt would continue to slide into his back. He considered turning around quickly to incite a fight, but he knew what he was up against. With just one wrong move, Hawk understood the consequences would be severe if not fatal.

  Hawk stumbled forward as the man gave him a firm push in his back.

  “You weren’t scared I was gonna kill you?” the man said.

  Hawk turned around to look Ray Green in the eyes. With the knife at his side, Ray flashed a wide grin.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure of anything based on the treatment your boss gave me a couple of days ago,” Hawk said, glancing at the blade in Ray’s hand.

  Ray closed the knife and slid it into his pocket.

  “That’s Ackerman’s way of telling you that he likes you,” Ray said with a wink. “Seriously, he was just wanting to test you and see your range of skills.”

  “There are other ways of doing that besides sending an assassin after a prospective employee.”

  Ray shrugged. “It’s a proven method for Ackerman. He’s lost some good men using that tactic—but if he does, he always gains a better one.”

  Hawk shook his head. “That’s a twisted way of looking at it.”

  “Perhaps, but you can’t argue with the results.”

  Hawk walked to the edge of the railing surrounding the balcony and looked down at the street below.

  “How did you find me, Ray?”

  “It’s Muscat, Hawk. And you’re an expat. It’s difficult for people like us to hide in a city like this. On top of that, I’m very well connected. And anyone that doesn’t look like they belong here becomes the talk of the neighborhood. You’d have to damn near be a ghost to disappear in this city.”

  “Look, I owe you an apology,” Hawk said.

  “About the money?” Ray asked.

  Hawk nodded.

  Ray waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, man. I understand why you’d be wary of coming by. And I knew you needed it. No harm, no foul.”

  “I was afraid I was in danger—and I didn’t know where your loyalties rested. At one time, we weren’t exactly the best of friends.”

  “Water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.”

  Hawk paced around, glancing between the cityscape and Ray.

  “So, why are you really here?”

  “Ackerman wants to offer you a job.”

  “Seriously? After all that I did to his men?”

  “Well, you didn’t kill any of them, which will endear you to most of the guys. That much I know for a fact. Honestly, Ackerman was impressed that you could’ve killed them if you wanted to—but you chose not to. You had the power and exercised it judiciously. And that’s exactly the kind of man he wants for an upcoming operation we have.”

  “What kind of operation?”

  “I can’t tell you that just yet. Ackerman is the one who decides what and when to release information about upcoming missions. All I can really tell you is that the money is very good.”

  “I’d need a dollar figure on that amount,” Hawk said. “We might have differing opinions on what constitutes good money.”

  “It’s enough to get you out of this dump.”

  Hawk chuckled. “If you think this is a dump, you should’ve seen where I lived when I was working as a tour guide in Al Hajar. This place is a virtual palace in comparison.”

  “If it’s specifics you want, I’ll give them to you—a two-day mission, fifty thousand a day.”

  “A hundred G’s? This must be some kind of assignment.”

  Ray shrugged. “I’m sure Ackerman will be happy to give you all the details if you’re still interested and want to come down to the office and tell him personally that you’re going to accept.”

  “You can let him know that I’ll plan on making my way down there tomorrow around noon.”

  “I know he’ll be very pleased,” Ray said. “Now, you might want to shore up your defenses around this place. If I can get through here so easily, I’m sure there will be others to follow.”

  “Some of Ackerman’s men?”

  “No,” Ray said. “I’m talking about street rats—you know, those kids who get a kick out of stealing stuff from people without fear of any real retribution.”

  “Good thing I’ve got nothing here for now.”

  “When you do acquire some essentials, they’ll pick you clean if you’re not careful. So, that’s my word of warning.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Hawk said. “I’ll promise to do a perimeter assessment tonight if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “It’ll make me feel a lot better. Ciao.”

  Hawk settled into one of the wooden chairs atop the balcony and wondered what he’d just gotten himself into. He was hoping it would be enough to stop the sale of the weapons to Al Hasib. Deep down he also hoped to get a crack at the terrorist outfit that had wreaked havoc all across the Middle East, the aftermath drifting onto the shores of Washington, D.C.

  He settled into his chair and stared at the twinkling lights in the city below as he contemplated how he should proceed. Telling Alex was a must, but such a decision would lead to a protest, albeit a mild one. He needed to be ready with an explanation for why such a mission was necessary.

  And he was more than ready. Ray had been evasive about the meeting, but he didn’t need to be. Hawk already knew what it was that Ackerman was going to ask him to do.

  CHAPTER 13

  Washington, D.C.

  MICHAELS GRIPPED THE LECTERN, knuckles whitening as he surveyed the room packed with journalists. Flash bulbs exploded as he looked down at his notes and prepared to speak. Under the circumstances, the last place he wanted to be was standing at a press conference and answering questions from a pack of media members, who looked as though they were frothing at the mouth to tear into him.

  Damn Wikipedia.

  The bombshell dropped by the website just a few hours earlier contained a recording of him engaged in a conversation with someone named “Ollie.” Several news agen
cies proffered forth a wide range of possibilities, but no one could pin down the voice of the speaker without a wide margin of error.

  “Today, I stand before you ashamed,” Michaels began. “Ashamed that we live in a society where news gets reported before it gets verified. Ashamed that we seek to take down our political opponents with a public display of grandeur while privately entering into collegial relationships that extend far beyond partisan boundaries. Ashamed that good theater trumps the truth. And today, I’m here to speak with you in order to set the record straight.

  “The United States isn’t interested in selling weapons to terrorists or any other rogue factions living among sovereign states. That’s not what this country is about nor is it what we do. And any reports suggesting otherwise are patently false.

  “The phone call you heard me on was little more than a deceptive trick to make me sound as I was attempting to do the thing I was accused of doing. But the reality is that the voice has been altered and digitally enhanced. Our forensics experts have done an incredible job in determining that the voice that was spliced onto the audio file with mine is not talking about the same thing. In essence, someone recorded my voice and manipulated my answers in small nuggets to make me sound as if I was talking about selling weapons to a terrorist group.

  “Not only was that wrong—it was also criminal. And I can promise you that whoever compiled that recording will be severely punished once they are caught.

  “At this time, the perpetrators behind this heinous act have yet to be identified. I’m not prepared to answer any questions on the topic, which will be addressed next week at a briefing with my spokesperson. In the meantime, I suggest that you do your due diligence as part of the free press and dig deep into the players behind this stunt. The timing appears suspect at best, launching this into the public sphere with no accountability just weeks before the election. Whoever these people are that want to smear my name among the American people are also smearing democracy. And I won’t stand for it—and neither should you.”